Old Magic
by The Jester of Fools
Summary: Harry, Matthew, Hannah, Terry, and Hermione... five names that shall forever change the Magical World. How so you might ask? Well, it all started with a game... a game called Dungeons and Dragons...


Categories: Harry Potter, Dungeons & Dragons

Genres: Fantasy, Dark, Evil

Pairings: Harry-Hermione, Harry-Hannah, Harry-Luna, Hermione-Matthew, Hannah-Terry (One or more could end up winning)

Notes: I though about this one for quite a while. Originally I let my friend Rei Mumei take it over, but I just had to write my own version, so here you go. Oh, and to any gamers out there, this is all run off of 3.5, NOT 4.0. If I wanted to play WoW, I'd play WoW, not D&D. As to what classes they'll be:

Harry is a Wizard. (Generalist)

Terry is a Bard. (Divination)

Hannah is a Cleric. (Healing & Good domains)

Hermione is a Fighter. (At this age she will be)

Matthew is a Specialist Wizard. (Necromancy, he also will be attending Hogwarts)

It was a Wednesday, and oh how Harry hated Wednesdays. It was not the day itself that made him so cross, for it would be quite silly to be mad at a specific day of the week for just existing; rather, he disliked what Wednesdays symbolized and, more accurately, embodied for him; the weekly inspection of his room and unending chore list that awaited him. While the second was no different than before the "incident", the first was almost a slap in the face.

He would be dragged out at a quarter past seven, supposedly before he awoke so he couldn't hide anything when in actuality it was well after he was awake, and forced to work in the kitchen making breakfast for the family as Petunia would carefully rummage and dissect his room for anything that could be considered 'freakish'. The reason for this not-so-aptly named Incident was a, now wistful, playground experience; far before Dudley and his gang grew into their strength and stupidity.

It is not unlike children to make themselves believe that they are someone or something else, such as a Knight, an Astronaut, or even a Fish. Few still remember how to do this when they're older, and those who act on it are called 'insane' or 'maniacs' by their peers, but this is not the focus of the story.

There were five children in all: Harry Potter (obviously), Hannah Abbot (a pretty blonde girl with deep blue eyes), Terry Boot (a bookish boy who seemed a genius), Matthew Mort (seemingly a pale shadow with dark hair and eyes, much like Harry), and Hermione Granger (a bushy-haired tomboy with buck teeth).

Thick as thieves that were, until Fate (or more likely a pinstripe suit wearing bastard who uses this excuse as a focal point for his stories) forced them to separate and eventually drift away.

The day was as clear as the London weather would allow when they decided to play a game. Where some would go with the gritty and gun slinging ways of the American 'Old West' with Cowboys and Indians; they chose to go a different route, one of the more fantastical options available to wildly imaginative children.

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Now, while not essential to the story, it does give a bit of background that will help your understanding of the events to come. Also, it a bit of an interesting read. If you wish to skip it, just scroll down to the next set of bolded Xs.

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Now, for a moment, let me regale you with the History of Matthew Mort; or rather, the history of his father. Marcus Mort, Mark to his friends, was a successful fantasy novelist originally from The States, but this was not always so. From his childhood, which for lack of better term was non-existent due to both familial and genetic issues, he had been obsessed with two things: Books and Role Playing Games.

Yes, yes, a few of you out there I can already tell are snorting in laughter thinking, "How could that be when there are much more interesting things out there to do? Sports, for example." Well, oh jockish ones, books and games were his first escape from a train wreck of a life.

He struggled throughout his life trying to balance his schoolwork, a job, life, and his obsession. Obviously, as those who have gone through it before can tell you, it didn't work out too well. His life crumbled: bills went unpaid, he estranged a majority of his family, he never finished college, and all he had left was a suitcase full of clothes and a Trailer full of books. He lived like this for several years before he tried to publish a fantasy novel. He was immediately rejected by several large book publishers, mostly for his vagabond appearance and demeanor. It wasn't years later when he finally got his break with a little-known company called Oasis Publishing.

While at first taken aback by his disheveled countenance and ratty clothing, they at least took his script. A few days later Marcus received a phone call on a battered and half-dead cell phone; they wanted his book, and more of it.

Karma, Fate, Divine Intervention, Infernal Intervention, Luck, Talent; whatever you call it, it happened to Marcus Mort. After that it was like a fairy tail; the royalties from the first book alone got him into a decent middle-class house with enough room for his library of books. While he never did get a steady job again, he did finish college with a double major in English and Philosophy.

He met a British woman, by the name of Verena, quite by accident one day by saving her life as well as the lives of 4 others; all while making a fool, as well as a savior, out of himself. They talked, then dated, then loved, then were engaged, and finally they married with little regret. They moved from his tiny two bedroom house (one of which was crammed with books, notepads and other ideas) and moved back to Surrey, Verena's hometown.

They settled down and had a child, Matthew; unfortunately he was affected by two rare recessive diseases. One was Haemolacria, the "blood crying" disease where the tears are partially made up of blood. The other was a newly diagnosed melanin disease, Marcozi disease. It drains the melanin out of the skin, leaving it near translucent, and reroutes it to the eyes and hair, darkening them both to near, if not entirely, black. Other than that he was a perfectly healthy baby.

With Verena working as a Realtor for a local Real Estate company and Marcus publishing the odd sequel or new book occasionally, they lived fairly well off.

It was from his father's library where Matthew got his idea for the game that fateful day.

**XXXXXXXXXX**

"Ugh, I'm bored!" The whine came from the throat of one Hermione Granger, dressed in a blue shirt and coveralls. She absentmindedly kicked a stone across the asphalt as the quintuplet roamed the walled-in playground of the primary school.

They all were bored, though Hermione was the only one who voiced it. Really there was nothing to do; there were small play sets and swings, but those were dominated by the older years that only used them to lounge around on. The rest of the playground consisted of open field and shrubbery.

Matthew, fulfilling his role as both wraith and lookout, stopped immediately and half-turned to the group from the shadow of the building. "We have company."

A group of Fourth Years, as in Fourth Grade for those ignorant enough not to understand, swaggered over to the group of five. Their names matched their demeanors: Ricky "Knuckles" Penshorn, Michael "Nails" Broker, Elijah "Tiny" Porter, and Eliza "Biter" Frock.

The first to meet them was Eliza, flashing her chipped and crooked teeth at them, her high nasal voice bashed against the group's tension like a cudgel against a shield. "Well, well, if it isn't the Freak (Harry), the Nerd (Terry), the Whore (Hannah), and the Herm (Hermione). Oh, I'm sorry, Satan's Spawn is with you today; how are you doing, Satan Spawn?"

Matthew's eyes darkened as he snarled at the older girl, Satan's Spawn was a name that he could never quite overcome, especially with the insinuation that his mother was a whore, a term his father was forced to explain after Matthew came across it several times in his father's nooks. He wasn't too sure of the details, but he knew it was a horrible thing to call anyone.

"I'm not a Whore, you cow!" Hannah's cheeks were bright with indignation, she was still the innocent First Year and had absolutely no clue what a "whore" was, but anything that Biter said was horrible and/or offensive.

Harry and Terry (...just so you know I didn't rhyme on purpose) didn't really care what they were called. Harry didn't care because he'd been called that since he could remember, Terry actually took it as a compliment. Instead they both looked at Hermione who was snarling and bristled in anger. Aforementioned girl cocked back a fist and stalked forward, growling with the savagery of an animal. Harry and Terry (god I hate rhyming) moved back and grabbed Hermione by both of her arms. Don't misunderstand, she was still the smartest girl in the class; she just had a temper to match her wit.

Ricky, the self-nominated leader of the group, grabbed Eliza by the shoulder and hauled her back. "Enough, they aren't worth our time. Let's go find someone else."

Eliza sneered at him, but cowed at the prepubescent boy's glare. He was pack leader and he would brook no resistance. "Whatever. Let's go."

The group left with a few more hurled insults, but no blows came about. Harry's group, for indeed Harry was Ricky's counterpart in leadership, continued walking to the back corner of the field where few would be able to bother them. Harry noticed that both Hermione and Matthew had white knuckles and their fists were shaking. He also noticed that something red was coming from Matthew's right fist.

"Matt, what happened to your hand." The group stopped walking and Matthew looked confused for a second before looking down at his hand as he uncurled it. Four crescent moon-shaped cuts had bitten into his palm, drawing blood. Hannah looked a bit queasy and turned away. Hermione, however, seemed interested and got closer.

"I-I guess I was so angry with them, I guess I didn't feel my nails digging in." Matt looked a bit embarrassed at the attention before shock swept across his face as Hermione took his hand to her mouth and quickly licked off some of his blood.

"Hmm, tastes like metal." Hermione was blissfully unaware of the open-mouthed stares she was receiving.

"O-okay," Matthew looked halfway between blowing his top in anger and mortification. Harry took the third route and nearly died as he fell on the ground laughing at Matthew's expression. Terry was quiet as always, but there was a sheen of mirth showing in his eyes. Hannah still had her back turned to him.

"Now, ha-ha, now that that's done, should we take you to the nurse's office?" Harry asked through an ear-to-ear smile.

Matthew glared at him, but eventually sighed. "No, I heal pretty fast anyway." He muttered.

Hannah peaked over her shoulder and saw that Matthew was putting pressure on his right hand. Deeming it safe to turn around, she did so and asked, "Well, now what do we do?"

The group thought collectively for a moment before Matthew seemed to spawn a light bulb over his head. "I know what we could do!"

***

"…I feel silly."

"Same."

"Agreed."

"Heh, that's because you get a book, a recorded, and a cross, while I get a stick I can beat you with." Needless to say, Hermione was one happy camper.

The game, or as Matthew called it "The Best Game Ever!" was an adaptation from one of his father's favorite games, Dungeons & Dragons. Instead of character sheets and dice rolling, they would act like their characters would; LARPing (Live Action Roleplaying), in essence.

They each chose their favorite classes from the ones Matthew could remember. Harry had always been fascinated with Magic, Wizards and sorcery, so naturally he chose the Wizard class. Terry liked the idea of being able to use music to stop an enemy in its tracks or boost his friend's morale with a light tune; he chose Bard. Hannah always liked to be the nice one, always helping out with things when she could. Although blood made her queasy, she wanted to be able to prevent pain and suffering; a Healer, or Cleric, is what she wanted to be. Hermione, while exceptionally smart and cunning, just felt like smashing stuff at the time, but she didn't like the enormous stupidity that went along with the barbarian class. She chose to be a fighter. Matthew was always a little…dark, even without his natural looks warding everyone off. He chose to be a Specialist Wizard. Necromancy was his weapon of choice.

And so, they started to play. It began with a quest to slay a dragon. They encountered all sorts of beings both benign and malicious. Harry and Matthew 'cast' their spells, Terry played a few light tunes, as well as a few harsh ones for damaging effects, on the recorder. Hannah would heal her teammates and face off the undead (ones that weren't controlled by Matthew). Hermione would rush in and start hacking away at imaginary enemies, but she never completely threw herself in; she always had a strategy.

All in all, they had a good time, laughing and playing together. That was until something happened, something magical…

***

Several days had passed since they started playing The Game everyday at recess. In this session, Hermione's mind had been taken over by the evil dragon, forcing her to fight her former companions. She pulled her punches a little for their sakes. After a while, Hermione had 'killed' everyone but Harry who was on his last leg. They both were huffing and puffing after chasing/being chased around the field. Hermione took a step forward, Harry took a step back. She took another step forward, Harry mirrored it in reverse.

Quite suddenly she charged with her stick high over her head. Harry stumbled over his own feet and landed on his back. His mind scrambling for some way out, he lifted his right arm toward the charging girl and a yellow beam of... _something_ flew out, hitting her square in the chest.

Harry's 'dead' friends watched in awe as Hermione fell back on the ground snoring, the stick rolling softly away from her outstretched hand. The others immediately jumped up and started to check on Hermione before peppering him with questions.

"Harry! What did-"

"How did you do-"

"Can you teach-"

"Hold on, hold on! Is Hermione okay?!" Harry asked anxiously, a cold feeling freezing his gut.

Hannah, who was still the 'medic' among them, checked her over. "She's just sleeping. Harry, how did you do that?"

"I don't know! She was coming at me, and all I could think about was that I had a Sleep spell le…Oh."

"…Do you think the Game gives you powers?" Terry asked mildly, yet his eyes were alight with thought and hypothesis.

"N-no it can't be. My dad would have told me if it did… Do you think we should talk to him?" Matthew looked back and forth between Harry and the softly snoozing Hermione.

"It might be a good idea. Should…should we go after school?" Hannah spoke hesitantly.

"Yeah," The school bell interrupted Harry's sentence. "Come on, let's wake up Hermione and tell her what going on. Who knows, we might all have powers."


End file.
